The 89th Hunger Games
by sprinkles288
Summary: Prim was never reaped, therefore Peeta won the 74th Hunger Games alone. The rebellion never happened and the Hunger Games continued. Now is the time for the 89th Annual Hunger Games, and a new set of tributes are about to be chosen. What will await them in the arena? Who will survive? The ones to decide that will be... you. **ACCEPTING SPONSORS**
1. Reapings: District 1

_**Hello! So this is a new Hunger Games story I'm starting. Not an SYOT, but please read, because you can be a sponsor! If you want to be one please PM me. You can sponsor up to three tributes. I'll give you 300 points if you choose to sponsor one tribute, 400 points if you choose to sponsor two, and 500 points if you choose to sponsor three. For now, enjoy the chapter!**_

**District 1 Reapings**

* * *

_Angel Sommerfeld, 18_

In front of my mirror, I brush my silky blonde hair in place before pulling it up into a perfect bun. Strands of hair fall down the sides of my face framing my heart-shaped face perfectly. I smile and my green eyes sparkle as I decide that I look brilliant.

I go to my closet where I put on my specially picked reaping dress, a dark green, strapless ruffled dress that is shorter than my knees. I pair it with some high heels and admire myself in the mirror before walking out.

My parents are waiting for me and my mother engulfs me in a hug.

"You look gorgeous, our soon-to-be Victor," she says and pulls away before she can cry.

My father hugs me too. "You're going to make us so proud, honey."

I nod because I know I'm going to. I'm volunteering this year, and I'm going to win the Hunger Games no matter what.

We drive to the Reaping where I meet my best friend Diamond. She squeals when she sees me and hugs me.

"You look great! Just like a Victor!" she tells me and I laugh.

"You look nice, too," I compliment her light blue dress as we go and check in. I frown as the peacekeeper draws my blood - I don't want any stains on my beautiful dress. Then we line up in the 18 year olds' section.

I can barely stand still5. I'm so excited. I love attention and that's what people are giving me because they all know I'm volunteering. The adrenaline pumps through my veins as I beam brightly. The escort, Diaz, walks onstage in a sparkly, long- sleeve, short dress that's a little formal but still quite nice.

"Welcome, District One. I am Diaz Milkovich, and I'm so proud to be escorting your tributes this year. First, I would like to introduce you to our mayor who will be giving you a special speech..."

I tune out of the regular routine. Reapings always drag no matter how special it was, and it felt like forever until Diaz came back onstage. I examine the line of people sitting behind the mayor in chairs - the mayor's wife, the escort Diaz, and the two mentors this year, Ellesia and Onyx. They were both not much older than me, having won their Games two or three years ago, but I hold a special respect towards them.

Finally the mayor goes offstage and Diaz picks a girl's name, digging down to the bottom of the bowl. Useless, because someone always volunteered.

She goes up to the microphone and opens up the slip of paper. "Cassidy Velvet!"

I smirk as I raise my hand in the air and say, "I volunteer!"

* * *

_Triton Debroff, 17_

I roll my eyes as the girl, an 18 year old, proudly climbs onstage and says her name into the microphone; "Angel Sommerfeld." I've seen her in training before, and despite her looks, she's anything BUT an angel. She's quite the master with a sword, maybe even more than some of the bigger, brawnier Career guys.

After Diaz says, "Give it up for Angel!" the crowd bursts into applause and she saunters to the boys' names, where she picks one and goes to the microphone. I brace myself to volunteer.

Even before she says the name, I say, "I volunteer!" and stride proudly towards the stage. I'm met with awed stares and whispers - if they've seen me before, they know how dangerous I am.

When I go up to shake hands with Angel, she smirks a little as if I'm just a puny obstacle in her way of winning, but oh, is she wrong. I'm a little short, but my knives can hit a bullseye from a mile away, and I've got fists like steel. Wait until she sees me fight.

We're led in our separate directions on our way to the room nicknamed the Crying Room in the lower districts, because that's a lot of what happens in there. Here, though, the families give encouragements for their volunteers and give their temporary goodbyes.

I walk into a room and sit down on a plush couch, waiting. It's a nicely decorated room, like most of the Justice Building is. Burgundy wallpaper lines the walls, with mahagony furniture and soft seats, and even a small chandelier hanging off the ceiling.

After a little while, my parents come in with my half-sister Chloe. My dad isn't my real dad, but he was the only father I've ever known after my real dad got my mom pregnant at 16 and died in the arena. She's only 33 now.

"Triton," Mom says, and she squeezes the life out of me in a hug.

"Mom!"

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be crying," she says and pulls away, wiping her wet eyes. "It's just... After what happened to your real father... I'm sorry, I should be proud of you, and I am. I really am."

I smile. "Thanks, Mom."

My stepdad comes over and gives me a hug, too. "You're going to do great, buddy."

I nod, and then Chloe comes over. She tackles me down and would've made me fall if I wasn't sitting down.

"I'm going to miss you, Tri!" she exclaims, her light brown hair, like mine, getting into my face. "I love you so so so much and you need to promise me you're coming home with the gold, okay?"

I grin. "Do I have a choice?"

The peacekeepers shuffle them out, and my mom kisses my forehead before dropping something into my hand. "It was your father's," she says, and then disappears behind the door.

I look down at my hand to see an intricately carved ring with a ruby as the centrepiece. It's really awesome, and has the name 'TRITON' in cursive at the back. I was named after my father, but I guess now that he's dead, it's mine.

I grip the ring tightly. "I'm gonna win, Dad. You know I'm going to."

* * *

_**What do you think of Angel and Triton? Would Triton be a good Career pack leader? Leave a review telling me what you think of the chapter, and I'll love you forever :D Also, don't forget to PM me if you'd like to be a sponsor!**_

_**-Mia**_

_**PS. If you need to see the tribute list, it's on my profile.  
**_


	2. Reapings: District 2

**_Sorry for the wait, guys! But anyways, here is the District Two Reaping. I'm quite pleased with this one, but I'd love to hear what you think about it. Enjoy :)_**

* * *

_Reeve Hines, 16_

I pull in my earphones and start playing a steady beat of rap music, before starting my daily jog around the neighbourhood. I'm wearing a pair of joggers and a sweatshirt, not really caring how I look as I run around all sweaty.

My curly brown hair - probably a little too long since I rarely cut it - flies everywhere as I make my way down a street. A blue car passes me slowly. Over the years I've come to memorize the pattern of houses and other buildings in the neighbourhood, since I jog here everyday. It's a habit, memorizing patterns.

I'm absorbed with naming everyone who lived in which house (I knew almost everyone in District 2) when I bump into someone jogging the opposite direction as me.

"Hey, watch it!" a female voice shouts as we both stagger back. I'm about to mumble an apology when I get a good look a her face.

The first thing I notice are her bright blue eyes, so electric that they send lightning flashing in my brain. Her face is pale and flawless, her dark hair falling in waves on her shoulders, her mouth parted slightly as she stared back at me. What was she looking at? Did I have something on my face?

It takes a few moments for me to manage to pull my brown eyes away from her sapphire ones, but eventually I look away and say, "I am so sorry. Are you okay?"

She shakes her head a little dreamily. Did I have a really big zit on my face that I didn't notice earlier?

"I'm okay," she says, and smiles shyly. I realize what her name is - Teresa Breyan, a senior Career girl who happens to be two years older than me. WAY out of my league. I almost sigh in disappointment.

"I wasn't looking where I was going," I say, stumbling over my own words. "M-maybe I can apologize by taking you out for-for coffee or something."

Teresa beams brightly as if to say yes, but then her face falls. "I... I'm sorry. I can't. I'm volunteering for the Games today."

I feel my heart sinking.

"But tell you what - when I get back, we can go to this cute little bakery near the town centre and have a muffin or something. It'll be nice."

Yeah, it'll be nice, I think, but look at the chances of you actually coming back. Unlike some Careers, I'm actually realistic and know the chances of winning the Hunger Games. Which is why I'll never volunteer.

"Yeah," I say half -heartedly, trying to smile genuinely. "That'll be great. I'll look forward to it."

She looks crestfallen at my lack of enthusiasm, but smiles anyway. "Alright. Great."

She jogs the way I'd been jogging before bumping into her. When she's out of earshot, I sigh. If by what small chances she comes back, I doubt she'll even remember me.

Turning around, I jog all the way back to my house, counting the buildings I pass.

At my house, I make a B line for the stairs, but pass my annoying cousin Ariel. She moved in after her mother got divorced and had nowhere else to go, crowding the once-peaceful household I live in with my Dad. I keep asking my dad to get rid of them, but he tells me that they need us. Whatever.

"You look tired," Ariel observes.

"Duh," I say. "I've been running, stupid."

"Yeah, but you're like, the sad kind of tired. Why are you sad?" she stares up at me as I tower over her 11 year old frame.

"It's something only teenagers understand," I tell her and then leave her staring as I dash for my room.

I shower out of the smelly clothes and then eat the breakfast my aunt cooked (although she's annoying, she is a magnificent cook). Unlike lots of families in District 2, we don't have a Victor in our bloodline. It's sad, really, but at least none of us died in the hands of the Capitol.

"Are you wearing clean underwear?" Aunt Maera asks.

"Yes! Why do you need to know?"

Maera frowns. "I just thought I had the responsility to be your replacement... female parent now that I'm living here."

I know where she was getting at. She thinks that she can replace my mother. She died years ago, and though I'm mostly over it, I get pissed when people tell me that I still need a mother figure to watch out for me. I'm sixteen, I can do things myself!

"If you want to be my mother so much, why don't you just marry my dad?" I spit out bitterly. We both knew that was sick - they were siblings.

Maera just stares at me as I leave, along with my Dad and Ariel sitting at the table. I hear them calling for me but I pull on a pair of trainers and walk to the Reaping. Nobody tries to catch up with me.

After they draw my blood in the town square, I line up in the 16 year olds' section and end up standing next to Rocco, my training partner at the Academy. We chat for a bit - he was literally at the top of the class, and he was volunteering when he was 18 - until the escort, Dean walks onstage. He's a chubby man who likes colourful suits and has an absolutely ridiculous accent.

"Welcome, District 2!" he says. I tune myself out for the rest, because I know it all by heart. The mayor makes his Treaty of Treason, a speech, Dean shows a video, yadda yadda. Sitting in a row at the back of the stage are this year's mentors, Corissa and Argus. Argus is 27 while Corissa is 24. They weren't the most recent Victors, but were chosen from a lottery of Victors since we had so many of them.

Finally Dean comes back on to choose a girl's name. I scan through the crowd to look for Teresa, but I can't really see her. The 18 year olds are a little far away.

I'm too busy looking for her to hear the name of the girl who was reaped, but I immediately see a hand sprout up from the middle of the 18 year olds section and hear a cry of "I volunteer!"

Teresa steps out with her head held high and a smile on her face, looking like a completely different person from the one I met a few hours ago. Her hair was straightened, and to be honest, I liked it better before, when it was wavy. She was wearing a royal purple dress with embroidery on her side that looked like peacock feathers. Kind of fancy, if you ask me, but I guess that's how you're supposed to look when you volunteer.

She strides onstage and says her name into the microphone. Then Dean goes over to the boys' names to pick out one, before going over to the mic. I don't really pay attention to who the chosen guy is, but as I look around, nobody volnteers. That's odd.

And then the escort says the name again.

This time, I hear it loud and clear.

"Reeve Hines?"

* * *

_Teresa Breyan, 18_

I widen my eyes as the boy who I ran into earlier stepped out of the 16 year olds. Reeve. So that's what his name was.

He walks foward as the crowd parts to let him through. He looks... confused. Angry, even. I guess he's one of those people who hate the Games and only train to prepare themselves in case they get Reaped. I can't underestimate him, though, because I've seen him fight - give him two swords and he can slaughter a whole army alone, no doubt.

I feel a shred of sympathy for him as he stands next to Dean and Dean looks around warily, findng it odd how nobody volunteered. I would've felt even more sorry if I didn't have to kill him. A shame. He was so cute, too.

We shake hands, and his gaze is cold and distant. He's a completely different person. Is being cold to others his plan for the Games?

I don't have time to ask him as I'm pushed into the Justice Buildng where I say goodbye to my friends and family. First come in my parents, who smother me with hugs and encouragements and kisses, particularly my mother.

"I'm going to be with you every step of the way!" she says. "Well, not actually THERE, but I'll be watching you and sponsoring you, no worries."

They leave, and then a bunch of my friends pile in. They all congratulate me, and someone even brought a bottle of champagne for us to celebrate! We're all still a little young to be drinking, but nobody's stopping us. I'm a tribute now. I can do whatever I want.

"To Teresa!" Peyton, a guy from the Academy, said as he lifted his glass.

Everyone toasted and clinked their glasses together. I sipped my drink and felt that warm, fuzzy feeling in my chest build up.

I don't get to finish it, though, when the peacekeepers pull them all away. I put it back down on the table and follow a female peacekeeper to the train.

On my way there, Reeve and another peacekeeper join us.

I toss him a little wink.

He stares blankly back.

* * *

_**Do you think Reeve and Teresa would make a good couple? Or should they continue avoiding each other like what Reeve's doing? Leave a review, telling me who is your favorite so far! Also, I'm sorry Teresa's POV was shorter, but I still mentioned her a lot in Reeve's POV so that should make up for it. Also, if you'd like to sponsor any of the tributes, pleas PM me! Have a great day :D**_

_**- Mia**_


	3. Reapings: District 3

**District 3 Reapings**

* * *

_Quinn Konigsberg, 14_

"Quinnie?"

My eyes flutter open to see a young boy around the age of 5 standing in front of my bedroom door.

"Jason? You shouldn't be up," I mumble, gesturing him to come over. He shuffles over and crawls under my covers, snuggling up close to me.

"I had a bad dream," he says. "There was a really really really scary monster chasing me in the- in the forest and it looked like one of those monsters we saw on the TV, and it was chasing me and he caught me between his mouth and started chewing me- and-"

"Shh," I quiet him. "It's okay. The monster's never going to come to you, not ever. You're never going into the Hunger Games."

Jason stares up at me with his big brown eyes, so full of innocence. "Mommy and Daddy always talk about that. What's the Hunger Games?"

I bit the inside of my cheek. Should I really tell him? Since I'm going to the Reaping myself this year, I don't think he'd be very happy to learn the truth.

"It's a little game where people go to the Capitol and play with people from other districts," I say instead.

"Is it fun?"

"Not really. It's really unfair. That's why they choose two people - a boy and a girl - randomly from a big glass ball every year to go into the Hunger Games."

"Do they come back?" he suddenly says.

I close my eyes. I didn't want to say this. "Sometimes you do. Sometimes you have to stay."

Jason says nothing else, and remains completely silent until he hugs me closer to me and buries his face into my neck. "When YOU get chosen, you HAVE to come back."

I notice he says 'when' and not 'if'. I smile without humor and say, "I don't know, it sounds pretty nice in the Capitol."

* * *

I wake up to a chilly morning. I slip out of my bed without waking Jason up and take a quick shower, trying not to get my dirty blonde hair wet. After I'm done I slip on a simple dark green dress, which is tightened at the waist and has sleeves that go halfway down my forearms. I also pull on a cardigan after I notice the cold. I drop a kiss on Jason's forehead before walking out the door.

Downstairs, I find my older sister Alex making breakfast. Our parents are still asleep, because by tradition, they don't come with us to the Reaping. I don't really want to see their reaction once they know I'm reaped, and if I'm safe, I'll come back home. Alex is with me on this. She's 17.

"How's Jace?" she asks, setting a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches down onto the table.

"Sleeping," I say. I pause. "He wanted me to tell him what the Hunger Games were last night, because he came into my room after having a dream about a mutt from the arena."

Alex furrows her dark eyebrows. She's the only one in the family other than Dad who had brown hair, and it was a really dark shade of brown compared to his. "What did you say?"

I shrug. "I told him it was a game that people play in the Capitol, and that sometimes they like to stay in the Capitol."

Alex nods, turning away to clean up the mess. I sit down and eat my sandwich half-heartedly, and when I'm done, I follow Alex out of the kitchen. But instead of going outside, I run upstairs to my room where Jason is still sleeping. I wake him up.

"Jace," I whisper. He knits his eyebrows together bur still opens his eyes.

"Quinnie?"

"Yeah," I reply, smiling a little. My face turns serious. "Listen, I'm going to need to go out for a little while. You remember what I said last night, about the Hunger Games?"

He nods.

"Well, we're going to the town square where they're going to choose someone to play in the Games. I might get chosen, so I want to make you promise that you'll be a good boy while I'm gone, if I'm gone. I love you, okay? Take care of Mommy and Daddy for me."

He's still half asleep, and he probably can't make out half of the words I'm saying, but I kiss his forehead and say a goodbye before running downstairs to meet up with Alex.

Alex stares at my face for a while.

"What?"

"You're crying," she says, her face softening. I wipe away the water streaming from my eyes and turn the other way, walking out of the house.

"Yeah, whatever."

* * *

_Barton Twells, 17_

I change into a crisp white shirt and brown trousers, and pull on a jacket after checking the weather outside. District 3 is pretty cold this time of year, and I have a feeling it has something to do with the Hunger Games starting in a week. The Reapings are being held today, and not attending is punishable by a public whipping.

My older brother, Bryce, is already 20, so he doesn't need to worry about the Games anymore. I've still got two years to go before I'm no longer eligible, and even after that, if I decide to have kids, there's them to worry about.

After a silent and awkward breakfast, we walk to the town square. I have to duck down to get through to the door since I'm so tall and gangly. I'm 6"3 maybe, and I'm even taller than my brother now. It's hard to not attract attention when you're about the size of a giant.

The walk to the Reaping is long and tedious, and the cold doesn't do much to help. As we get closer to the city square, the crowds get bigger and you can see the large stage in the distance.

"Be safe," my mother says, and I lean down to let her hug me. She holds on for a little longer, and I can feel her tears seeping through my shirt.

"Mom," I try to say softly.

"I'm okay," she says, pulling away. "It's okay. Bye, honey."

I wave goodbye to both of them as they join the spectators' section. I walk over to the registry lines where they prick my blood and I'm allowed to go to the 17 year olds' section.

There, people around me are talking and muttering, some nervously staring at the stage. I don't have many friends other than Katya, who's in the girls' section, and my cousin Evan, who's sixteen, so I stand there staring at my feet, trying not to look nervous.

Soon enough, the escort, a new one, saunters onto the stage in high-heeled white boots. She reminds me of the videos I've seen of cartoons that the pre-apocalyptic Americans, way back even before the twenty-first century, had thought the future would be like. Wha was the show called again? The Jetsons? Oh, how wrong were they.

The escort beams into the crowd and her fake, big lips stretch out hideously. "Hello, District Three! My name is Trina Lowe, and I am your new escort for the Hunger Games this year. How exciting is this!"

Not at all, I wanted to say, but I keep my mouth shut. She goes through the first part of the reaping quickly, and eventually she picks a girl's name from the bowl. I hope it isn't Katya.

"Quinn Konigsberg!"

I sigh in relief, because it isn't anyone I know, but then I feel a pang of guilt when I hear a scream from the 14 year olds. It's only the girl's third year, and she's so small, compared to those around her. She falls to the ground and sobs into her hands until a pair of peacekeepers came over and dragged her to her feet. They weren't even nice about it. I felt the urge to go over and help her, but I know the peacekeepers have weapons.

Closing my eyes, I make a silent prayer for her. It's odd, praying to a God after most of the people had given up hope on him, but I feel some sense of security whenever I ask Him for something, even if I'm not sure he exists.

The girl is crying so much they have to put her into the Justice Building immediately. Trina, the escort, doesn't hide her annoyance as she rolls her eyes and picks a boy's name. I cross my fingers. Please don't let it be me. Please don't let it be Evan. Please, don't let it be anyone I know.

But Fate likes to mock us.

"Barton Twells!"

The rest of the day was a blur. I was thrown into the Justice Building. My parents came in crying, telling me that they were sorry. For what? I couldn't think. My brain couldn't function under all the pressure. My brother came in, hugged me, wished me good luck and put something in my hand. Katya and Evan came in, and Kat was crying. I told her not to, but she wouldn't stop. Evan hugged me and tried not to cry for my sake.

And then they were gone, leaving me alone in the room. A peacekeeper came in to escort me to the train. I followed without a word. Quinn, my new district partner, came out of her room, her eyes puffy and her short, blonde hair all messy. Pretty much everyone in District 3 had blonde hair, sometimes black hair.

Now I'm in the train. I find myself fascinated by the interior but have little time to think of it, when a lady with a blonde pixie cut and a guy with short, black hair came into our carriage. They were arguing. I glanced at Quinn standing next to me, and she was staring blankly at them.

"They need our help, for crying out loud! Could you not think of anyone else other than yourself for just a second?" the woman shouts. Her voice is louder than her size leads us to think it is.

"They can help their own goddamned selves!" the guy screams. Are they talking about us? Did they even notice us in the room?

"You know what? I don't care. Just go and do your own freaking business getting yourself utterly _drunk_. I don't need your help!"

"Fine with me!" He throws up his arms mockingly before leaving the room, slamming the door behind him.

I watch the lady as she stares at the door. I recognize her from a Hunger Games recap from before. She turned around and smiled a little sadly at us.

"Looks like I'm going to be your only mentor now," she says. "I'm Poppy. That was Gordon."

* * *

_**A/N: I'm sooooo sorry for the late update! I kept forgetting to upload this chapter even though I've written it a while ago -.-" BUT, here it is, District Three! Do you think Quinn will go back to her little brother, or 'stay at the Capitol forever'? What do you think of Barton, Poppy and Gordon? Don't forget to PM me if you want to be a sponsor - I've got two so far, but I'm welcoming as many as possible! Thanks for reading and have a GREAT day :D**_

_**- Mia**_


	4. Reapings: District 4

**District Four Reaping**

* * *

_Eddie Tarsitano, 13_

We're having our usual Friday family dinner, where everyone is required to sit down and eat an amazing meal that Mom prepared for us, regardless of if we want to or not. I spoon some mashed potaoes onto my plate as Charlie, my 16 year old sister, fights over a piece of chicken with her twin brother Chris. Mom scolds them and tells Chris to get another piece of chicken. Charlie sticks her tongue out at him. Real mature.

Dad rolls his eyes at them. He gives me a look. "I'm glad you don't have a twin."

My little brother Adam squirms in his high chair as he smashes his hand into his plate, making his baby mush fly everywhere. Dad groans and picks up a hankerchief, and then leans over to wipe Adam's face. On the way, he knocks over my glass.

It tumbles to the ground.

And breaks.

And somewhere behind us, a window breaks, and all hell breaks loose.

Gunshots. Screaming. Blood. Glass. It's all a blur as I'm pushed by Dad down under the table, and I'm concealed from their view behind the chairs. The robbers stop shooting once everyone is down. I'm in too much shock to even cry. They leave hastily, taking with them our life savings and my mother's jewellery, and I sit there, under the table.

Alone.

The bodies of my family cold and lifeless around me.

I open my eyes, waking up to the usual gray and barren ceiling. Sweat trickles down the side of my face. The nightmares never stop, and I haven't been able to get any undisturbed sleep for months, ever since the incident.

I shut my eyes tightly, willing myself to disappear and never come back, but I open them again in fear that I fall back asleep and have the dream again.

I jump out of my rickety bed and see that everyone around me is asleep. I've been living in an orphanage ever since it happened, since none of my so called 'extended family' wanted to take me in. I wouldn't blame them. I'm just chaos on legs.

Since nobody else is using it a this hour, I have the luxury of the shower with warm water, and I don't even bother to try and leave some hot water for the others. It's not like the other guys at the orphanage ever help me out. All they ever do is make fun of me for being the Rich Kid, though I'm nowhere near rich now. I'm just like them - parentless and alone.

I change into the good clothes that the orphanage provides for us yearly - a plain, short-sleeved white button-down with slacks and hand-me-down loafers. Breakfast isn't for a while, so I leave the sleeping quarters to walk around the building, something routinely I've done ever since I moved here.

It's all the same - bleak gray walls, linoleum floors, doors marked with 3 digit numbers. I walk to the one decently nice place in the orphanage - a balcony, looking over one of the beaches that District 4 is so famous for. It's empty as always, just the right placing for me to think.

The Reaping, the one day of the year that everyone dreads. To be honest, our entire lives revolve around the Hunger Games, even after we're no longer eligible. I wish that I could say otherwise, that we're allowed to do things by ourselves without the Capitol looming over us, but it's a lie, just as much of a lie as what freedom is believed to be.

I remain there, leaning on the rail of the balcony for a while, until a bell chimes signalling breakfast. I wait for a few people to leave their sleeping quarters before following them to the cafeteria. Today's specialty is soggy oatmeal, a few fruits and a carton of milk, and I aimlessly stir the liquid in my bowl while sipping the carton of milk.

A hand snatches up an apple that was sitting on my tray. I look up, unsurprised. 17 year old Daniel Lewis, one of the oldest kids in the orphanage, is the head bully and major jerk of District Four. His ugly face smirks as he sees my blank expression.

"I'm hungry," he says.

"You can try the cafeteria special," I say. "The oatmeal is fabulous, as if it was made in the Capitol itself."

Daniel frowned, his ugly features deepening. "I don't like your attitude, kid. They should try and discipline you more."

'Discipline' is our term for the caretakers beating us senseless with canes if we were to ever break a rule, if we weren't dead yet. You don't get anymore discipling after you turn 16 - you're kind of independent then, and you have the choice whether you want to leave or not, though by 18 you're kicked out and left to fend for yourself.

He looks down at the bowl of oatmeal and gets an idea. "If you think the oatmeal's so fabulous, why don't you have more of it?"

He pushes my face down onto the table and I crash into the gooey oatmeal I hadn't eaten. I don't struggle. It's never worth it.

Daniel's cronies laugh behind him, but they're the only ones. Everyone else hates Daniel, though nobody is wants to stand up to him.

After cleaning my face of the oatmeal, I leave the building and follow the flow of people to the Reaping. We're fairly close to the city square so it's not a long walk.

Because the orphanage isn't particularly rich, all of the orphans have to take the tesserae to provide food. My name is in there about 4 times, so I'm not too worried. Besides, dying might even be better than haing to live with these kinds of memories.

Anyhow, District 4 is a Career district. Even if I get picked, someone's going to volunteer.

I let them prick my finger and then make my way to the 13 year olds' section, where I avoid any human contact whatsoever. It seems like ages until our mayor goes onstage to make his speech.

When he's finished, our escort, Plum, climbs onstage in a dress that matches the colour of her name. Even her hair is a deep purple, as well as her lips.

"It's such an honour to be escorting a district home to so many of Panem's favorite," she says, and winks at the crowd, "and soon-to-be favorite Victors. I do hope that this year goes as well as last year did."

That was kind of true, if you like the idea of an 18 year old girl slaughtering her way through a forest to come home to her district. The boy from our district died in the final eight, but the girl, Elyza Chiron, won. She was sitting in a chair behind Plum, staring grimly at the floor, her red hair tied up in a fancy updo.

"Shall we hurry on to choosing the girl?" she says. Plum walks to the bowl on the right, pulls out one of the hundreds of slips of paper, and walks back to the front of the stage.

"Amber Kyson!"

"I volunteer!"

Oh, what a surprise. A girl with copper red hair strides to the middle of the crowd, where everyone makes way for her to move. She's way at the back, so she's probably eighteen, and clearly has trained. She's tall and muscular, more than me even, and walks wth a gait that makes sure you know that you're inferior in her eyes.

"Your name, dear?" Plum asks the girl.

"I am Scarlet Larosa, your worst nightmare and future Victor."

Some people in the crowd cheer for her. Plum smiles uncomfortably before going over to the boys' names. I worry little about it, because others have chances so much bigger than mine. She pulls out the name, and I look through the crowd to see any potential volunteers. Not yet.

Then Plum reads the name.

"Edward Tarsitano!"

* * *

_Scarlet Larosa, 18_

I roll my eyes as I notice a scrawny boy - 13 years old, I'm guessing - step out of the crowd. I hope _that's_ not my poor excuse of a district partner. He's an orphan, I think, but it's not like I care. Someone else will volunteer. Someone else HAS to volunteer.

Even Plum is a little surprised at the lack of enthusiasts this year. The boy stands next to her on the stage, looking so pathetic compared to those who had stood in his place previously. I frown. He's definitely not going to be in the Career pack, so that means we'll be one person shorter than usual. Whatever.

The peacekeepers push me into the Justice Building, and I growl in response to their hospitality. The peacekeeper hesitates and I smirk. I walk to the Crying Room, which is just as eloquently decorated as the rest of the Justice Building, and sit down, thinking about what I'm going to do when I get to the Capitol. My angle is quite obvious - confident and strong, showing everyone that I'm way better than them. Which I am.

Soon my family bursts through the door. Ugh, they're so overbearing. My mother's supposedly 'proud of me' but she's cring up a storm - I really see her nothing more than the woman who gave birth to me. I never call her Mom or Mother because that would assume that I actually care about her.

The same goes for my father. He's the one who wanted me to join the Career Academy so I could volunteer, since my pathetic sister Sapphire never wanted to. She's a year older than me but looks younger than me, with her tiny, untrained frame and big glasses.

They finally leave and let in Chace, my trainer. He's a Victor, too, though he wasn't particularly happy about me volunteering. Something about bad experiences. It's not like I'm going to follow in his footsteps or anything.

He and I go over the strategy we've been working on since the beginning of the year. It's fairly straightforward - I'll gain the trust of the Careers, make a secret alliance with one of the other Careers, kill the rest of the alliance while they're in their sleep, take over the arena and then betray the final ally. You can never trust in the Hunger Games - you can't really trust anyone anytime.

"I'm really putting all my faith in you, Scar," Chace says, his hands on my shoulders, staring deep into my eyes with his sea green ones.

"You better," I say.

"But you can't make any careless moves," he says. "No hunting alone. There might be an alliance that's big enough to overpower you-"

"I know all this," I say, brushing him off. "Don't worry. I'm winning and there's no exception."

He purses his lips as if he doesn't believe me, but nods. "Good luck, Scar."

I smirk. "I won't need luck."

On the train, I sit in a lounge area located in the first cart. My district partner, Edwin or something, is sitting awkwardly nearby, obviously intimidated by my presence. I can't help but roll my eyes multiple times. He won't even make it past the bloodbath.

A guy not much older than thirty and a woman twice his age walk into the room. I immediately recall the guy - Christopher Pygmy, winner of the 75th Hunger Games. That year was a Quarter Quell, and the twist was that a family name would be reaped, and a female and male from that family would have to volunteer to go into the Games. Christopher had gone into the Games with his sister Elena, and up until now he still holds this forlorn gaze that says he hadn't wanted to win. What a fool.

The woman, though, I didn't know, surprisingly. Her hair was grey, streaked with the black it had once been, and her eyes were soft brown. Her kind face was one I thought of as weak. Sympathetic. Sympathy plays no part in the Hunger Games, or at least, comes out as no good.

"These are the tributes?" Christopher says, raising an eyebrow. A tall, bulky girl and a small, skinny boy. An odd mix, but nobody said we had to be a mix.

"You have a problem with it?" I ask, folding my arms.

"No," he says. He turns around and I can almost feel him rolling his eyes. He must get tributes like me all the time, tough and fearless, and he's undoubtedly sick of them. Well, I'll show him. I'll show him that I'm nothing like those careless idiots. I'll show him.

I feel my blood boiling as the female mentor introduces herself as Claire, and we have to tell them our names. I really wish that Christopher was a tribute, because he'd be the Career that I would secretly ally with only to give him the worst, most painful death in the end.

* * *

**Yay, I updated within a week! There's District Four for you, our final Career district. Do you believe that Scarlet will show to Christopher that she isn't just another arrogant, careless Career? Do you think she will win, and should she? What about Eddie - will his ability to put up with bullies be useful to him in the arena? Thanks SO much for reading, and don't forget to review!**

**- Mia**

**PS. I've got a few more sponsors than the last time, but I STILL NEED MORE! Please PM me if you'd like to become a sponsor - it'll be great, because you can help out your favourite tributes! Also, don't forget to review. If you do, I will love you forever :3  
**


	5. Reapings: District 5

**District 5 Reaping**

* * *

_Brittany Miller, 15_

I'm sitting in front of the mirror in our living room. My mother brushes out my long hair, which is a very, very light blonde. She tells me that I'm unique because of my hair colour, which I inherited from my grandmother, since everyone in the district has dark hair. But having blonde hair only makes me feel left out, and of course, there's the teasing and the dumb blonde jokes.

"Do you have any idea how pretty you are?" my sister, Courtney, says as she walks up behind me carrying a bundle of folded laundry.

I knit my eyebrows together. I suppose, in a different world where I would have been born in a different district, I might be considered pretty, with my narrow nose and high cheekbones, but beauty was something that caught people's attention in a good way. I caught people's attention in a not so good way. Probably because I look so different, so different that I'm labelled a 'mutant'.

"No," I answer Courtney, which is pretty much the truth.

"Well, you are," she says, staring almost longingly at my reflection. "I honestly envy you sometimes."

She shouldn't, really. Courtney is already considered pretty by District 5 standards, with her brown curls and her big brown eyes. She's normal - not a mutant - and beautiful, which easily gives her a good reputation.

I still, however, smile. "You're already pretty as you are."

She shakes her head as if she doesn't believe me - Courtney never believes it when people compliment her - and walks up to her room to put away her clothes.

My mother chuckles as she starts braiding my hair. "You two are the strangest. Anyhow, beauty isn't what is on the outside-"

"-but rather what is on the inside," I finish. She's told me this a million times. "The way you treat others, how you treat yourself and how you react to things define your true beauty."

Mom chuckles again. "Alright, I guess you know. We should get going now. The Reaping is in an hour."

I stand up and go to my room to change into my Reaping outfit. I don't fully know the reason why people dress up so nicely for such a dreadful event, but I don't question it. I slip on a light blue skirt with lacy patterns on the hem and a sleeveless collared white shirt. I slip on some dress shoes before hopping down the stairs, where my mother sets the table for breakfast. It's traditional that we have a big, lovely breakfast before Reaping day, just in case it's our last breakfast together.

Courtney comes down and we hold each other's hands around the table, thanking God for giving us shelter and food and safety, and praying that nobody among us gets chosen for the Hunger Games. In this world, very few people even believe in a God let alone have a religion, but our family likes to maintain our ancestors' ways. We eat, taking our time because it might be our last time.

Finally we stand up and make our way out of the house. Although we're quite well-off, we don't have a car, since my dad took it after the divorce with my Mom. I never see Dad anymore, unless it's by accident, because he's perfectly happy with his own family to take care of. He doesn't want us. He hadn't wanted us when they were talking about who got custody over the kids.

"Good luck," Mom tells us when we have to separate at the town square. She kisses both of our foreheads and waves as we walk away, joining the bustle of people around us.

After registering, Courtney gives me a tight hug. "Please don't get reaped," she says, though she only half meant it. My name was in there three times, three times in the midst of hundreds more.

Once I'm away from Courtney, the stares come, accompanied by sneers and whispers. I'm always a little more safe when I'm with my sister because she's on good terms with pretty much everyone, but when she's not in sight, everyone would start with the teasing.

"Blondie doesn't have her big sissy with her anymore. Aww, poor thing!"

"Look at that _freak_."

"Does she even know what a _mutant_ she is?"

"She doesn't even deserve to be here."

I swallow and blink back the tears. It's stupid how I still cry no matter how much it happens. I'm too sensitive, too weak, and I inwardly slap myself for being such a fool. Eventually, I drown out the voices and stand confidently in the 15 year olds' section. I watch as the mayor comes onstage and makes his dreary speech.

"And finally, let us give a round of applause for our district escort, Vylen Waye," he says and steps away from his platform to go and sit at the back of the stage. In the row sitting with him are his wife and this year's mentors, James and Lucielle. They're both middle aged and have ther own families, probably wanting to do anything _but_ mentor two children who are likely to die this year.

The escort, Vylen, clambers to the front and beams with his large, unnaturally white teeth. I could've sworn I saw them sparkle in the light.

"Hello, District 5!" he says. He goes on about how happy he is to be escorting us, shows us the annual video and then finally goes over to the glass bowl holding the girls' names. I cross my fingers and hold my breath, but as he opens his mouth to say it, I hear a voice say somewhere nearby, "I hope it's the mutant instead of me."

And it turns out, it is me.

"Brittany Miller!"

* * *

_Lewis Stadelman, 15 _

As lucky as people tell me I am, I don't like being the mayor's son.

So much responsibility comes with it. I'm the eldest by just an hour, so I'm the one expected to become mayor after my dad retires, as long as I make it out of the Reapings alive. I don't like attention. Most people view me as a goody-goody rich kid who they can't really tease because that would get them in trouble, so I hardly have any friends. The closest thing I have to a friend is my cousin Elle, who's twelve, and at times she's terribly annoying.

My sister, Laurel, has no problems with the attention, though. She was born to be in the limelight and is the most popular girl in the district. She doesn't have a goody-goody reputation because she's gotten into trouble before for underage drinking and whatnot, but she never actually gets _into_ trouble because my dad always busts her out. She does, though, get grounded more often than I can count.

"Where were you last night?" I hear as I go down the stairs. Oh, great, another fight. Laurel and I are supposed to be twins, and I guess we have similar features with our brown hair and light blue eyes, but that's where the similarities end. Laurel is the 'bad' twin and I'm the 'good' twin. I hate being the good twin.

"Spencer's house," Laurel mumbled, grabbing an apple from the counter.

"That boy again?" The voice belongs to my mother. My father is at the town square preparing for the Reaping and undoubtedly to get away from the conflict about to take place. "What were you doing there up until _midnight_?"

"Do I have to describe to you in detail?" Laurel retorts. She takes a bight out of her apple. I don't understand how she can do everything so fearlessly.

Mom starts yelling about how ungrateful Laurel is and how stupid she is to believe that Spencer loves her (which I believe he doesn't. He only dates her for the popularity and the money) and I leave before it can get any worse. The town square is merely a short walk away, but I still get the looks and the sneers as I register and line up in my section. I soon notice that not all of sneers are aimed at me, and see a girl with blonde hair braided down her back. Brittany Miller, the so-called 'freak' of District 5. She's blonde and very quiet, and because she looks different and acts different, people assume things. I honestly feel bad for her, but I don't really feel like talking to her, or anyone else. Two 'freaks' talking to each other will no doubt bring up a chaotic round of rumors.

After the mayor, my father, finishes his speech, Vylen chooses a girl tribute. It's Brittany. I'm genuinely surprised, as are the others, even those who had bullied her. Although they said that they wanted her to get reaped, nobody ever actually meant it. Nobody wants anybody to go into the Hunger Games, not even their most hated person.

Then Vylen chooses a boy's name. I close my eyes as he breaks the seal on the slip of paper. _Please don't let it be me. Please don't let it be me._

"Lewis Stadelman!"

* * *

My father loses it onstage, breaking his image as the calm, dreary mayor, instead trying to break loose of the peacekeeper's hold as I shake Brittany's hand. I try not to look at him as he's dragged inside the building, hysterical. I think one of the mentors, Lucielle, pulls away my crying mother. I can hear Laurel yelling something in the midst of the lines, probably sobbing too, but all I can do is follow the peacekeepers into the Crying Room.

It's a while until anybody comes, and when my parents do, they're in a mess. My father's suit is unruly. My mother's face is lined with runny mascara. Laurel's pretty face is in so much pain that my heart aches as she hugs me tightly. Everyone hugs me tightly, all together, so tight that I find it hard to breathe. We don't even say anything because we're in too much shock.

Finally they have to go, but before they do, Laurel puts something small in my hand. She says nothing and man in the peacekeeper uniform pulls her away. I find myself holding out a hand to grab her, but she's gone, and my life seems to slip right out of my hands.

But the small item is still in my palm. I look down, and see that it is a piece of paper, folded up into a square so small that it's barely bigger than my thumb. I open it up and see that it's a small photo. It is of me and Laurel when we were babies, probably not even a year old, playing together in the midst of blankets on the floor. You could hardly tell us apart if I wasn't wearing green and she was wearing red. I remember seeing the photo in a family album, but why did Laurel have it with her? The edges were frayed and the corners were bent, and the fold creases looked well-used, so did she carry it with her all the time? Is there a side to my sister that I haven't seen before, one that cares a lot more about me than what I first thought?

I fold up the picture and shove it in my pocket. My token.

A while later, I am escorted out of the room and to the train. Brittany walks up beside me. Although she's standing with her back straight and her head held high, I can see the redness in the corners of her eyes. She is better at hiding her emotions than I ever could be.

She notices me looking at her, and gives me a sad little smile.

I give her the same smile.

* * *

**A/N: I'm a day late... oops. Anyways, here is District Five! I personally quite like Brittany, though of course, her fate is up to you guys. I'm working on the District Seven chapter right now (yes, I've typed up District Six, though I just like keeping you guys in suspense ^_^) so hopefully you'll get the next chapter on time next week?  
**

** Just a side note - there were a few guest reviews on the previous chapter which reminds me something I need to say: I would really really appreciate it if you got an account so that I can PM you about the details. If your account is new, you can ask me through review, but PM me as soon as you can. 'Til the next time, have an awesome week!**

**-Mia**


	6. Reapings: District 6

**District 6 Reaping**

* * *

_Jesse Ludwig, 13_

Suzanne and I were supposed to be twins.

We never really looked alike, though. I guess we had the same light brown eyes, but that was about it. Suzie was tall and confident and cheery with long black hair and tanned skin and a huge, friendly smile. I'm two inches shorter and I'm awkward and shy and bookish with messy brown hair and pale skin and a bad habit of chewing my nails. We were fraternal twins in every way, right down to the genders.

Still, I had never been closer to anyone, not even my parents. Suzie actually understood me and how I felt to be so lonely all the time. She had never been a loner like me, but maybe it was just the twin instincts. She was loud and popular and had loads of friends. But she was always there for me.

We shared a room when we were little, but when we got older she was given the room next to mine. The walls were thin and we would always have secret conversations with each other if we couldn't sleep. That always happened, since the arguing outside never really called for any type of peace and quiet. Our parents loved each other, honestly, but they had so many things that they disliked about each other that it often overruled anything else.

But Suzie, she was always there. Sometimes I could block their voices out completely and just talk to her and laugh quietly together in our own little world. She talked about her friends, I talked about my books. I felt so boring sometimes, but she always listened and responded and made me feel like I was real. She was the best.

One night, there was a particularly bad fight. My mother was crying while she was yelling and my dad was shouting horrible, awful things but we tried not to pay any attention to them. Suzie started crying. I started crying. Why wouldn't they just split up for the sake of everyone?

"Suzie," I whispered. "I'm here. It's okay, you know."

"It's not okay," she whispered back, sobbing. "They hate each other and they probably hate us too and they're going to break up and we're going to have to split and I'm never going to see you again, Jesse-"

"No," I said firmly. "No, we're not splitting. We're never ever ever going to be kept apart. Ever."

Ironically, the next day, Suzie wasn't there. I tapped the thin wall like one of us always did to check if the other was awake. She didn't respond, so I went over to her room. Empty. She never left the house in the mornings without telling me. I panicked, and when I looked all over the house for her, she was nowhere to be found. I did, though, find my dad with his face buried in his hands in the living room.

"Where's Suzie?" I croaked. He looked up at me, eyes red.

"Gone," he said. "They took her away."

* * *

The shirt I wear was once too big for me, but now it's almost too small for me. I fix the collar and the cuffs before tying the tie around my neck. The tie is an emerald green, Suzie's favourite colour. I try not to think of her most of the time, but today could be the last day that I would stay in the house she once lived in, because today is the Reaping.

It's only my second Reaping, so I still feel weird, but it might have to do with the fact that last year, I had Suzie with me. She writes to me all the time, though, including yesterday, when she had wished me good luck before I had to go to the Reaping. I pick up the periwinkle coloured envelope and read the letter again for the billionth time.

_My Dearest Jesse,_

_You must think that I am awfully lucky to not have to participate in the Reaping this year. As it turns out, I never had my name in the Reaping ball in the first place, because the government had always thought of me as a citizen of the Capitol. It is so unfair how terrible, bratty children here in the Capitol are not given the chance to be punished for their truly unspeakable actions, and rather be allowed to enjoy watching hardworking children of the Districts in their ultimately miserable state. Speaking of which, I absolutely despise this place._

_Everyone is so cruel, so horrible. Even my so-called 'parents'. I am aware, completely aware that Mom and Dad at home still argue consistently, but my new 'family' is so... stiff. They are what you consider the 'perfect' family. They are all hideously fake, of course. My 'mother' has a face lift every week so I have no idea how old she really is. My 'father' is a jerk who tells me off for every little thing I do wrong. My 'little brother' is a horrid little twat who ripped my picture to shreds, the one picture that I had of our family. He is nothing like the little brother I had in you, Jesse, nowhere close._

_They made me dye my hair purple and it looks awful. It FEELS awful, so frizzy and unnatural now. They want me to dye my skin, too. I would rather die than give in to them._

_I am starting to forget how YOU look like, now that I do not have any pictures of us, and by now, you have probably grown. You would still be shorter than me, though. You always were and always will be. Did you get a haircut? Please tell me you got a haircut. You look ridiculous with long hair. I doubt your skin has gotten any more tanned. You should go outside every once in a while, you know? You've always been so pale. Almost unhealthily pale. I want to keep my tan, the one thing I have left from District Six, but my 'mother' drags me to these awful spas to make me paler, since it is in 'fashion' in the Capitol. The treatments don't work, at least. My tan is now permanent. Ha-ha.  
_

_I am trying my very best to not think of the Reaping. You only have your name in there twice, anyway, so I should not worry. But the constant threat hangs over our heads, just as it does to every other District child in Panem. I often wake up from dreams of you being thrown in the arena and being violently injured. It is only a dream and I tell myself, only will ever be a dream, but it hurts, it hurts knowing that there is still a chance albeit a small one that I will lose you. Jesse, I love you so much, so much more than anything that I could ever imagine, and losing you would be like losing part of me. Please stay safe. I love you._

_Yours truly,_

_Suzanne._

I had already penned out a reply, tucked neatly inside a cheap envelope I bought from the post office. My plan was to drop it in the metal blue box sitting in front of the small post office building. It was near the town square and on the way to the Reaping, though I knew that if by the slim chances I got reaped, Suzie would receive the letter too late. I can imagine her sitting cautiously in front of a TV screen right at this moment, waiting and waiting for the screen to change to the District Six Reaping. Maybe she'll be watching with her new family, though by what she's said about them, I doubt she would be able to stand being in the same room as them.

My parents are oddly quiet this morning. Dad is in the kitchen making breakfast - potato hash with eggs, I guess from the smell. He gives me a slightly uncomfortable smile, but hugs me tightly all the same.

"You alright?" he asks. I'm not sure whether he was referring to the Suzie situation or to the Reaping, but either way, I smile tightly and say, "Yeah.

He clearly doesn't believe me but pats my back, urging me to the breakfast table. I am actually a little hungry, and I feel bad about that considering I shouldn't really be indulging when such a dreaded event is coming up. I finish the plate and down a glass of water. While I clean my dish, Dad carries a tray of breakfast over to his and Mom's bedroom. He gave me a little wink and disappears behind the door. Are Mom and him finally patching things up?

My parents come back out of their room dressed and ready. My mom squeezes me, and I inhale the smell of her rosy perfume. She only wears it on special occasions.

"You'll be alright, honey," she said. "I promise you'll be alright."

Her voice told me that she wasn't just convincing me, but was trying her best to convince herself as well.

* * *

_Allison Barringer,_ 17

The district has never really been very crowded, even at this time of the year.

District Six is a pretty big district land-wise, but we're a little short on the population. To blame was the pox outbreak that happened around fifteen years ago, leaving only around 30% of kids aged 12 to 18 alive. Even now, the number of children is less than half of what it had been before the pox happened, but I actually like the smaller population like this.

I am not a big fan of people, mostly because they're never particularly big fans of me. I'm not super ugly or super pretty (at least, I hope) or super awkward or super outgoing, I'm just... an introvert. I make friends fine, really, I'm just picky as to who I want to become friends _with_. My childhood best friend, Carlie, isn't really the kind of person I would choose to be friends with right now, but we've known each other since we were tots, and it's kind of hard to get rid of her. She's ridiculously nice to everyone and is bubbly, and actually pretty dumb. I don't feel guilty saying this since she knows that's she's dumb and has accepted it long ago.

In front of the bathroom mirror, I pull up my curly bronze hair into the required ponytail. I was born with the Curse of the Corkscrew Curls and despite how hard I try to make it look presentable, it doesn't look good in anything much other than a ponytail. I rinse my face and check my reflection for anything specifically revolting. Nothing. I am fairly satisfied, so I proceed to change into a sleeveless peach dress that goes three quarters down my thighs. I'm around 5"11, and the dress was meant to cover my knees but obviously failed at doing so. _It's better than nothing_, I think.

Downstairs, I am greeted by the barking of my dog that drowns out pretty much every other sound there is. The dog, James, a golden retriever with a hyperactivity problem, was playing with my sister Joanne. Jo was giggling as she ran around in circles while James chased her. I shook my head.

"Jo-Jo, don't get hurt, and make sure you don't break anything," I say. Jo-Jo goes up to me and hugs me.

"It's Reaping day today," she whispers, her green eyes staring up at me. "Just wanted to wish you luck. Come back, 'kay?"

I roll my eyes, though inside, I'm not feeling it. "Of course I will. When have I ever let you down?"

She giggles once again, her short hair, curly like mine, bouncing as she runs off with James chasing her once again. My heart aches at the fact that I may not ever see her again.

_Stupid, _I think. _Of course you're going to. It's just another year like the rest - you won't get reaped._

_Six slips, _the voice in the back of my head says. _One slip more than last year. You never know._

After breakfast, Jo-Jo bounces to the door with me, chattering excitedly about the school project that she's working on. I listen in and out, watching my feet sometimes, watching my parents walk beside us sometimes. My mother carries Rose in her arms, a gurgling toddler just about a year old. Her first word was uttered last night, something like _boppy_, her apparent new nickname for her bottle.

When we got nearer to the Square, crowds started forming and people were being pushed around. Rose began crying. Jo-Jo clung tightly to my dress, and I held her hand on instinct. She was eight and only slightly more than half my height. She had insisted on wearing _her_ best dress as well, a soft pink dress with a white collar, and her curly hair had been done in pigtails.

I split up with the family once we found the registration lines. Mom hugged me and kissed my forehead after handing Rose over to Dad.

"Stay safe, okay, Buttercup?" she says, trying hard to smile.

"Of course," I say.

They leave, Jo-Jo waving frantically at me as they pulled her along, and I was left in the midst of strangers.

* * *

Our escort, Lyon, took his sure sweet time getting ready before coming up onto the stage.

I nervously play with a lock of my hair as he clambers up the stairs in some shiny white getup. He beams at the crowd.

I don't listen to his speech because it's the same every year. Behind him is a line of seats; the mayor and his secretary, the mentors Mary Jane and William, and an empty chair for Lyon. A projector screen rolls down and the required annual video is plays. Lyon goes back to his seat. I don't watch the video, either. Lyon then comes to the front and says, "It's time to choose the tributes for this year's Hunger Games! Ladies came first last year, so shall we choose the boys first?"

I wish that he had decided to chose the girls first, just so that I could once again quickly be flooded with relief. After taking a long time choosing, he picks a name and speaks into the microphone.

"Jesse Ludwig!" he says. We are quiet for the longest time, because there are no sounds to make when someone is chosen for the Hunger Games. A thirteen year old boy, quite tall and gangly for his age, steps out of the rows of other boys nearer to the front of the Square. I cannot see his face from here, but I figure that he looks scared. His posture, though, looks sad, almost dejected. Disappointment, because it's his two slips out of thousands. I don't think he's ever even taken the tesserae.

He walks up slowly but steadily enough that the peacekeepers don't have to intervene. Lyon pats the boy's back sadly and smiles a small smile, like that would help. The escort walks soundlessly to the girl's bowl and picks a slip, quickly this time.

He moves to the microphone. I cross my fingers and close my eyes.

_It can't be me, it can't be me, it can't be me..._

"Our female tribute is... Allison Barringer!"

* * *

I am crying so much through the goodbyes that I only absorb the bare details. My mother hugging me tightly, Jo-Jo sobbing in my arms, Rose crying, my father holding my hand. Carlie comes in crying as well, and she mutters a bunch of nonsense to me though I know she's trying to be helpful.

Then... nothing. They are all dragged away and I am pushed onto the train. I grow accustomed to the feeling of water dribbling down to my chin, the pain wrenching in my gut, the realization that I am going to die. Because, let's face it, what chance does some skinny, tall girl with no training experience at all have?

I find myself being escorted to my room by Lyon, a hand on my shoulder so I don't stray away. The world is still blurry and I am in too much pain to know where I'm going. He says something to me, probably something comforting and kind, and I am led into a strange room. A bedroom, I guess, because there is a bed which I sit on.

For a while, I stare at the wall opposite me. There is a mirror that reflects my current condition - unruly hair, tear-streaked face, puffy eyes. I'm a mess, a pathetic mess, and I feel like one inside. I am shattered, I am broken, and no words can ever bring me back. I have no more hope. I am lost. A lost cause.

I will die when I step into the arena, whether or not in the beginning or in the end, but I know I will not survive. I was already gone in that moment when Lyon called my name. I am a lost cause, because _look at me._

_I'm so sorry, Jo-Jo,_ I think, closing my eyes. I curl up into a ball on the bed and begin crying again, everything collapsing around me, creating an unescapable trap.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**Hold on.**_

_**I haven't updated in almost a month?!**_

_**Holy crap. I'm so so so so so sorry guys! I may or may not have completely forgotten the story, having been completely focused on other stories I've been working on (most of which I haven't even posted anywhere yet lol). If you could forgive me, I will love you forever. Thank you so much for the support, guys. I'd really love to get more sponsors, since right now I think I have about three, so PLEASE PM ME IF YOU WANT TO BE A PART OF THIS STORY! I've decided to make the sponsor gifts a big part of the tributes' survival, so your gift could mean your tribute's life. Do you choose to accept the offer?**_

_**Also, on a completely unrelated topic, do any of you guys have Wattpad? I don't know if we're allowed to talk about other websites here, but if you guys happen to, you can drop me (same username) a visit :) I mostly use this site for Hunger Games fanfiction; I never even use fictionpress anymore, ahaha. But anyway, thanks for reading and have a great day! As always,**_

_**-Mia**_


End file.
